


Inspection Day

by cinomarsh



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Fear, Gen, Human Experimentation, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinomarsh/pseuds/cinomarsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aperture Science's infamous Inspection Day has arrived, and Wheatley is dreading it. Inspired by the Geekenders' portal musical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inspection Day

Wheatley was nervous.

Wheatley was always nervous.

Aperture Science could do that to a person. Or a personality core. It tended to be the sort of place that one would lower their voice to mention, lest someone nearby hear them and ask for all of the grisly details. And they were grisly, a fact that Wheatley knew better than most.

Wheatley had been in charge of the Aperture Science Relaxation Centre for a bloody long time now. At least, that's how he described it if anyone asked. "A bloody long time." His job was to supervise the comings and goings of every test subject in the facility. It wasn't a complicated job. In fact, it was hardly a job at all. He didn't have to help them get to the tests; they were transported by the Party Bot while still in cryosleep. The Party Bot also dealt with anyone who died before or after tests, so all he really had to do was make sure the subjects were in their rooms when they were finished, and they hardly ever needed help finding their way there. Every now and again he'd get one with a nasty head wound who needed a reminder, but all in all Wheatley had very little he was required to do.

Which is why he rarely did it.

Sure, he'd pop in every now and then, but he spent most of his time avoiding it, and nobody could blame him. He'd seen every manner of physical malady a conscious being could have, from bleeding eyes to missing limbs to broken skulls still just barely functional. Not just humans either. He'd seen everything, from animal to android, things stolen from the surface and creatures who had never seen the light of day. He'd seen tortured beings drop dead before they reached the door to their room, he'd seen children sobbing so hysterically that they passed out from a lack of oxygen, and he'd heard robots praying.

Not a pleasant environment overall.

So Wheatley would patrol the hallways, watch the turret assembly line, chat with corrupted cores and essentially do everything except his job.

Test subject guard duty was, of course, not the original purpose for which Wheatley had been built, but he didn't like to think about his old job. After a lot of careful consideration, he had decided that he must've been too clever for it, so they'd given him a different one. That was the only logical explanation.

But today was different. Today was Inspection Day, and Wheatley was nervous.

Everyone was afraid of Inspection Day. Only someone who'd been working in the facility as long as Wheatley had could really tell, but every sentient creation in the whole massive skeleton that was Aperture was absolutely terrified. The turrets were especially quick to shoot, the cores were a little more frantic in their speech, and even the generators themselves seemed to be humming a semitone higher. No one wanted to be on Her bad side.

Wheatley had seen what She did to test subjects. She liked test subjects. He didn't know what She'd do to someone like him, someone She'd met before and already had a very good reason to hate-

"No, it's- it's probably fine, she probably won't even remember me, it's fine, totally fine..." He told himself, his voice echoing in the empty corridor, higher than he remembered. He wasn't going to think about that right now. Or ever, for that matter.

He tried to stay calm but his surroundings were certainly not helping. He hung from his management rail in a dark corridor, his optic giving off a faint blue glow in the perpetual gloom of the place. There were lights set into the panelled ceiling, but they were off, only turned on when a test subject was returning or being moved. The wall on his left was a row of doors, all uniform and stretching farther into the darkness than he could see. On the wall to his right, forlorn panels were set, some hanging forward and exposing wires and pipes and all sorts of other metal bits and pieces that Wheatley couldn't name. The floor was linoleum, smeared with something red and not all that encouraging.

He looked away and tried to distract himself.

"Oh of course, it had to be ME they picked for this. Typical. Bloody typical. They just threw me down there, told me to get them into the rooms. That was it! Typical. If She decides I'm not doing it right then that's what I'll tell Her. 'I don't know any more than you do, luv, honestly.' No, She probably wouldn't buy that..." Wheatley sighed. He didn't know why he was even able to sigh, what with not having lungs or anything, but an Aperture Science programmer had thought it would be useful someday, and it sure was useful now.

Sighing and talking to himself was providing less comfort than usual, but he much preferred the sound of his own voice to the sound that followed.

_Hello._

The voice came from long disused speakers concealed in the shadows somewhere near the ceiling. It was cold and smooth but not empty; just undecided. Wheatley found himself wishing for a throat he could clear.

"Um- Hello!" He managed, trying his best not to sound nervous and, as usual, failing miserably.

_You're in charge of my Relaxation Centre?_

"That, um, that would be me, yes, definitely." He stuttered in response. There was a pause that seemed much too long.

 _Well, everything appears to be in order._ She sounded satisfied, almost pleased.

"Oh, well, um, of course! I've been doing this for a- a very long time and, well, not to brag or anything but I do take pride in my-"

 _Aside from the fact that you haven't actually been doing your job for at least a decade now._ The voice he heard now was the one he was familiar with; intense, calculating, and sharp as a switchblade. Wheatley let out an involuntary yelp.

_Let's take a look at your file._

Another pause. The silence was tangible. Wheatley wanted to hide inside of it.

_Oh._

_Intelligence Dampening Sphere. I remember you._

Wheatley shut his optic. Intelligence Dampening Sphere. No one had called him that in years. He fought back memories of being attached to Her for the first time, of Her being brought to life, of Her voice calling him-

_Moron._

He squeezed his optic a little tighter. He wanted to yell, wanted to scream, but he also wanted to stay alive. He said nothing.

 _I can't believe they let you stay. I thought they would've incinerated you the moment you failed at the one thing you were made for. Oh well. We could always fix that._ Underneath the computerized tinge to Her voice, She sounded like a queen. A queen who may or may not have murdered the king for Her crown. Wheatley's optic shot open.

"NO, nononononono that is DEFINITELY not necessary, no, don't have to do that." He replied frantically, seconds away from begging.

_Then I want you to tell me why you won't do your job._

"Well, um, I just didn't- I don't like, y'know, seeing them when, when they come out of the tests. They're usually, well, you tend to, y'know, beat them up a bit in there and, and maybe if you weren't so rough with them or, or maybe did something else for a change, then-"

 _If you're suggesting I stop testing altogether, bringing scientific development to a standstill, because looking at the subjects makes you uncomfortable, then you're a bigger moron than I thought._ Every syllable She spoke felt as though it was meant to target him.

"Well, maybe not that, but, but you could-"

_Look, little ball, this is not a negotiation._

An unfamiliar yet distinctly... _human_ tone had crept into Her voice: a mixture of disbelief and pure annoyance.

_Finding someone else willing to stoop to the intellectual level required to do your job is a waste of my time. I'm going to let you stay alive and I'm going to let you keep your job. As long as you do it._

"That is fantastic, definitely a good decision on your part, I-"

_Because this is what will happen to you if you don't._

Before Wheatley had time to worry, he felt a shocking sensation that crisscrossed his entire body. It seared through every crack and crevice in his spherical form and had the core cursing his artificial nervous system. The white-hot pain was too much to bear and Wheatley couldn't hold back a scream.

It seemed to go on for hours but couldn't have lasted more than a couple minutes. It left him disoriented, afraid and more than a little angry.

"Unnecessary..." He mumbled, still organizing his thoughts. "Mean... S'just nasty, really... "

_I can hear you._

"Ah!"

_Get back to work._

"Okay, yes, of course, I'll get right to it, right now, yes."

Silence. Wheatley was alone again. He let out another synthetic sigh.

He _hated_ Her. Absolutely despised Her. She was a monster, and She was in charge and able to do anything She wanted, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He felt very, very small.

It wasn't a new feeling. But he still resented it.

Wheatley did his job from then on. Not always very well, but he did it.


End file.
